Page 15 of Shadows and Stone

I reach out, my fingers briefly brushing against his forearm. "Goodnight, Ryker."

"Rest well, Teagan. I'll be right next door in the bonus room."

I unlock my room, slip inside, and quietly click the door shut behind me. The suite is eerily silent. I kick off my shoes and switch on my bedside lamp.

That’s when I see it.

Stacked neatly on my unmade bed is a pile of mail that Zay must have collected from the campus depot and dropped off for me earlier. There are a few script notes from my agent, a box of sample facial serums from a Korean brand, and a thick, cream-colored envelope with no return address.

Frowning, I pick up the cream envelope. My name is handwritten across the front in jagged black ink.

Teagan Dae. Creepin University.

A cold prickle of unease dances down the back of my neck. It’s the exact same handwriting style as the creepy note left on the bench the very first day I arrived in Creelin.

Slowly, I slide my finger under the flap and pull out a single sheet of thick cardstock. Scrawled across the middle in thick black marker are the words:

Everyone’s watching you play the prince. But how many of them know my prince has a voice that kills? Were you singing for me in the library yesterday?

My breath hitches. The room suddenly feels ten degrees colder. For a second, the phantom memory of the aggressive fan grabbing my jacket in the quad flashes behind my eyes.

I swallow hard, my heart pounding against my ribs. No, I tell myself, forcing my hands to steady. It’s just a prank. Or an overzealous fan who somehow got my campus mailing address. It's a coincidence. Nothing more. Everyone knows I unconsciously sing or hum under my breath.

I fold the letter up, shove it deep into the trash can under my desk, and crawl into bed, pulling the duvet tightly around my shoulders. I close my eyes, trying to force the creeping dread out of my mind until sleep finally drags me under.

Three days pass.

The initial chill of that creepy note fades into the background noise of studying, script rehearsals, and filming scenes alongside Caylen. Ryker is my rock. A constant, unmoving pillar by my side, shadowing my every move with a quiet, professional demeanor.

Until Wednesday afternoon.

I’m sitting at the small dining table in our suite, reviewing my lines for the next day's shoot, while Ryker is standing near the kitchen counter organizing his gear.

The front door clicks open, and Zay strolls in carrying a stack of mail and a bag of craft supplies. "Hey, Teagan. Mail drop," Zay calls out, tossing a small bundle of envelopes onto the table in front of me before disappearing into his room with his glitter glue.

I mutter a thanks and casually flip through the stack. Junk mail, a package slip, and then—

My breath catches and my whole body begins to tremble. I vaguely hear Ryker calling my name in the distance. I want to respond but my focus is stuck on the envelope in front of me.

Another cream-colored envelope. Same handwriting.

Before I can even open it, a shadow falls over the table.

Ryker is already there. His movements are so fast they blur. Before my fingers can fully wrap around the envelope, Ryker’s large, claw-tipped hand swoops down, snatching the letter off the table with terrifying speed.

"Ryker, what the hell are you—"

"Don't fucking touch it," Ryker orders. He tears the envelope open with a quick slash of his claws, his eyes scanning the words inside.

As he reads, I swear the air in the room instantly changes. The temperature drops. His wings flare outward, expanding until his wingspan fills the entire width of the kitchen. His tail whips behind him, striking the base of the kitchen island with a sharp thud.

"Ryker?"

His jaw is set so hard I can hear his teeth grinding. His nostrils flare as he breathes in, and his gargoyle instincts are right at the surface. It’s ancient, territorial, and fiercely possessive.

"He knows your schedule," Ryker growls, his voice vibrating with suppressed fury. He reads the words aloud, his tone dripping with lethal ice. "I saw you just outside of Mummy Mocha with that big purple gargoyle. He walks you to every class, but he can't hold your hand forever. You don’t belong in the shadows with a predator of the night, Teagan. You were always meant to shine on stage."

Ryker crumples the note, the cardstock practically disintegrating between his fingers.